Two is Greater Than One
by agapimou34
Summary: Hawkeye has CKD, a chronic disease that has plagued him since he was born. Apparently, though, the army doesn't count losing the genetic lottery as a reason not to be drafted. Once in Korea, he is assigned a 'special bunkmate', someone who'd be both his comrade in arms and his partner in crime. BJ Hunnicutt never expected to be that person.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! So this is an out-there idea of mine that I recently came up with while watching M*A*S*H. I wondered what it would be like if Hawkeye had to not only cope with the struggles of war but also deal with a disease he's been plagued with his entire life. Who would look out for him? How would he survive? The life of a doctor who was also a patient was interesting to me. I apologize for any medical inaccuracies, as I'm sure this story is full of them. I'm not an MD, just so you know. Please R &R- it inspires me so much and I love to hear from you guys. No flames, plz, but constructive criticism is appreciated. Enjoy!**

Hawkeye Pierce was a lot of things. Charming raven haired captain, leader of the camp, a talented surgeon, frighteningly smart, and _the_ lady killer of all time. He was the king of jokes and making people laugh. There was hardly a thing he would reply to seriously- from his CO to his still in the swamp. He was constantly and skillfully spinning quips from the glum sentences thrown at him. For his popularity and high status, many people seemed to regard him as some sort of unbreakable dam to lean on, an indestructible superhero that was always capable of saving the day. But that was far from the truth.

Hawkeye Pierce was quick in his thinking and even quicker in his actions. He was headstrong and fiercely independent. At times he could be cocky, selfish, and irresponsible. And God, was he cynical. Though it was hard to stay optimistic or see any kind of light in this war zone hell, there were few things Hawkeye could refrain from complaining about. He would be disrespectful, reckless, or just plain cold. Hawkeye would even get depressed, a trouble he found he could drown in the bottle of cheap beer that was often the culprit of his well known spontaneous drinking.

Hawkeye Pierce was far from perfect. He would be the first to admit that.

But ask BJ Hunnicutt and it'll be a whole other story. Because there was more to Hawkeye than it seemed. Just by looking at him, you could tell he was sick. Hawkeye was born 4 weeks premature and died twice within the first two hours of his life. He weighed just 9 ounces and was approximately the size of a beer can. The doctors didn't expect him to make it past the age of 5, and told Daniel Pierce to prepare for the worst. But the Maine native refused to give up on his son, determined not to lose his only child as well as his wife. Several years passed, with Hawkeye constantly being in and out of the hospital, but eventually he made it to his 12th birthday and had found a sort of middle ground to help deal with his diagnosis; chronic kidney disease, the biggest of his many problems. His kidneys were practically non-existent when he was born, and he was put on dialysis for the first year. His immune system was compromised at best, and by the time he was 13 he'd had a grand total of 32 surgeries. He remembers very clearly the day he first aspired to be a doctor himself. He was 9 years old and sitting in bed at home, tethered to the IV pole while he was given his sixth dose of medication, when he had a great revelation. He remembered his favorite doctor out of the many who'd worked on him over the years. Dr. Sawyer had been the most famous nephrologist on the children's ward, and was known for his silly antics and brilliant ideas. He wore a pair of groucho glasses to work every time he examined Hawkeye, recounting a particular tale of how he himself once came down with a case of the chicken pox in 1901, before vaccinations even became an idea, and his family called him a pepperoni pizza for a week while he was covered in the red spots. He always made Hawkeye laugh, so much so that sometimes he forgot where he was, that he had three needles stuck in his arm, that he was getting prepped for a surgery with a 40% survival chance. Laughter truly was the best medicine, and realized that he could turn his weaknesses into strengths if he became a doctor and worked hard. He wanted to give people the same smile that Dr. Sawyer gave him so many years ago.

So, he went to medical school and got around residency surprisingly well despite his frail and fragile constitution. He got his degree in surgery and PhD from the University of Maine and graduated cum laude. His father was overjoyed and he himself couldn't help but he proud that he'd made it this far. He was ready to start his own practice when North Korea attacked South. The U.S. was sending their men in, but Hawkeye's father told him not to worry. "You won't get picked," he'd assured, "you have medical status on your side." But apparently, the army discounted losing the genetic lottery as a get-out-of-jail card. He was drafted within ten days, despite the many angry letters and rants his father wrote to every military clown he could think of. Hawkeye was numb, didn't know what to think.

When he'd first arrived in Korea, he'd been assigned a 'special bunk mate', in other words, someone who he'd not only share a tent with but someone who took specific classes about CKD and would be able to treat him regularly. BJ Hunnicutt was his name; a man with a gentle expression and a mustache that was just starting to come in. So BJ was not only became his best friend, but also his registered doctor and caretaker.

Personal space was nonexistent for Hawkeye his whole life- someone, be it his father or a nurse, was always up close to give him medicine or fix his IV and chest tubing. So, as far as the two best friends, they were pretty much joined at the hip, subconsciously leaning on one another with their shoulders bumping against one another. And BJ, Hawkeye noted with amusement, had the fiercely protective habit of grabbing Hawkeyes hand at least five times a day, fingers flittering just above his pulse point as if making sure he was still alive, still there. At night, the two shared (a very rare and surprisingly comfortable) a real bed. Not a cot, but an actual mattress and everything. It was foldable, of course, since it _was_ a mobile hospital, but far more spacious and soft than the army issued cots everyone else had to deal with. Because of low blood pressure, hypertension, risk of respiratory problems and all the other joys of losing the genetic lottery, Hawkeye could never sleep without being monitored. When he was away at residency, it was a small alarm connected to a relatively new heart monitor that would serve in place of a person, but machines that could pick up electromagnetic pulses had just been introduced to the market, and were outrageously expensive and unreliable at best. It was just easier to have someone next to him.

"I couldn't survive without you," Hawkeye blurted out one night after BJ had finished getting him ready for bed (medication, IV port, oxygen in check).

BJ was slumping against his shoulders whilst reading a letter from peg, and he looked up at his friend with a knowing smile. "Somehow I feel like we've been talked about this before, Hawk." He murmured, "I think we decided on the fact that neither of us could stick around without the other. That's how this game works, right? I save you and you save me, whoever lasts the longest wins."

Hawkeye grinned and laced fingers with BJ, saying nothing but content enough to fall asleep in the warmth of his friend, the feeling of BJ's steady hand over his heart.

They were each other's everything. They were each other's doctor, brother, friend, advice giver, partner in crime, joker, martini buddy, body guard, and sometimes even psychologist. Sydney freedman was the first choice for everyone to talk to, of course, and Hawkeye loved any time he got to spend in the mans company- Sydney just appealed to everyone. He was calm and confident, practical yet fun to be around and always a great poker buddy. But he was also the busiest man Hawkeye knew besides the ever moving radar, and often he was swamped with broken soldiers who were in even more need of his wisdom than Hawkeye. So, the two captains would talk to each other. That was just one of the thousand things Hawkeye loved about BJ. There was no dividing wall in their relationship- they told each other everything, for better or worse. There was no judgement, no fear of rejection. If something was bothering one of them, they'd confide in the other and tried to help each other best they could.

Some days Hawkeye's convinced that he's too much- he's a cynical, hopeless case with an expiration date, and he'd often worry that BJ would get tired of him and leave, that he'd do something so stupid that would force him away. But the captain never faltered. When Hawkeye got drunk one evening, angry at the world, he insulted BJ and even his family, spewing words that he's still ashamed he ever said, smashing the still to bits and raging like a deranged mad man.

But BJ didn't get angry. He held the man against his chest and made sure he hadn't ripped out any of his IVs, and rubbed his back and even laid a small kiss on his forehead. They remained together until morning came and Hawkeye realized what he'd done, and he'd apologized whilst sobbing, so ashamed and disgusted with himself, refusing to even look at BJ. But his friend only took his hands and looked him in the eye, sincere and true and honest, and told him that everyone has a breaking point, especially in this crummy war where escaping horrors is just about impossible. "You never have to ask for my forgiveness, Hawk," he'd whispered, "whatever you do, you'll always have it one way or another. If you ever feel like that again, just let me know and we'll figure something out, ok?"

Hawkeye hugged him and held onto him like a drowning man would a lifeboat.

June 21st, 1952;

The day started before the sun was even up. BJ felt a light touch on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Trained to wake up on command, his eyes shot open to see if Hawkeye needed anything. However, the brunette was sleeping soundly, face pressed into the crook of BJ's neck, arms folded as he snored ever so softly. BJ frowned and looked up to see a large Lebanese nose obscuring a view of a familiar face.

"What is it, Klinger?" He asked quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping body beside him.

"A Dr. Cho from Tokyo general is on the phone, sir. He's read about Hawkeye's case and wants to speak with you immediately." The clerk whispered.

BJ rolled his eyes, tempted to lay his head down and go back to bed. "Tell him to call back later. I don't do house calls." He murmured drowsily, situating himself under the covers again.

"He says he has a patient with CKD stage 4, and he's fading fast. He needs your help." Klinger didn't waste any time, telling the truth like it was.

This got BJ's attention successfully, and he groaned inwardly as he knew what he had to do. Carefully and silently, he untangled Hawkeye's arms from his own and slipped out of bed, shrugging his robe on. "Keep an eye on Hawk, I'll be right back." BJ muttered, exiting the tent as Klinger gave him a mock salute.

"You have to stop giving him fluids... No... Yes, I understand that, but CKD leaves no room for extra supplements. Patients with this disease can barely absorb nutrients, let alone a saline solution. Their kidneys are practically non functional... Yeah... Uh huh... That's what I did for Captain Pierce a few months ago and it worked like a charm. If he gets any worse within the next hour, put him on dialysis immediately. Respiratory shock is a pain that just loves to rear its ugly head when the immune system is down... Ok... Yes... You're welcome, doctor, glad I could help. Ok. Bye bye now." BJ sighed as he hung up, rubbing a hand tiredly across his face.

"It's too early for this." A voice agreed.

BJ spun around to see Hawkeye up and out of bed, his hawaiian shirt hanging loosely on his skinny frame. It seemed like no matter how much BJ pushed him to eat, the man would never be more than a wispy frame of bones. Hawkeye was grinning that cheeky smile of his, IV still in his wrist. "What're you doing out of bed?" BJ asked, voice raspy with sleep.

Hawkeye shrugged, fiddling with his dogtags. "Couldn't sleep. What do you say we head over to the mess tent and see if the food is moving or not? I could eat."

BJ chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Ok, I'll give it ago- but if the macaroni is still squirming, you owe me 5 bucks."

The two headed out the door to face the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello fellow MASH friends! I'm sorry this update is so late- anyhow, this chapter is mostly a filler. Sorry to pull one of these, but its important to help keep things moving. Reviews are gifts!**

"Ok, everyone, time to play the daily game of: 'what crawled up Charles's shorts this morning?'! Beej, why don't you start?" Hawkeye drawled dramatically as he picked at his food, smirking at the bostonian who sat down with a grunt. He looked like hell warmed over; tired, dark circles that hung in bags under his eyes. He scowled at Pierce from across the breakfast table, trying to drown out the headache inducing noise of the morning mess tent.

"Mmmhh, let's see…" BJ tapped his fingers on the table as he peered curiously at Charles before turning back to his friend. "Garden snake, maybe?"

"I was going for Klinger's lost panty hoes, but that works, too." Hawkeye agreed nonchalantly.

"Please, cease your infernal yapping, you two… I have a pounding migraine as it is and the last thing I need is your unbearable chit chat." Charles moaned miserably, nursing his cup of coffee.

Margaret, who sat across from the major, gave him a sympathetic look before turning to glare at the two captains. "Can't you guys ever take a hint? The poor man's obviously not in the mood for your moronic antics." She scolded.

The two mischief makers glanced at one another, as if they could speak a secret language with just their eyes, before Hawkeye gave an imperceptible nod and turned to Margaret seductively. "Would you care to channel that energy into romance?" He asked in a low purr before jokingly fingering his oxygen cannula, "Because you just took my breath away."

The strict major open and closed her mouth with incredulity while BJ laughed in support of his friend, earning a satisfied grin from Hawkeye. Even Charles, whose hangover had made him nearly insufferable, quirked the corner of his lips up in a smile no one would ever see.

"Captain, please! Don't tell me you've resorted to joking about a very serious disease!" She snapped, nodding to the black haired doctor.

Hawkeye, who was used to people constantly gawking at his ability to poke fun at his illness, gave a mock frown and folded his arms resolutely, turning to his blonde partner in crime. "She's right, BJ. Let's get serious." He exclaimed in his best army general impersonation.

BJ, knowing his cue by heart, nodded along and in perfect unison, the duo flashed the major by pulling their shirts up and howling girlishly, managing to run out before Margaret could hit either of them with her spoon. They earned laughs and stares from the mess tent crowd as they pulled off their perfect escape, leaving the major blushing furiously in the midst of it all.

"That never gets old," Hawkeye mused happily as they made their way back to the swamp, his oxygen tank slung over his shoulder in his signature backpack with pins of marilyn monroe, I LIKE IKE, and groucho glasses designs pinned and sewn to the fabric.

"Do you think she'll ever catch us before we get to the finale?" BJ wondered aloud, opening the door to the swamp for his friend.

Hawkeye shook his head and flopped down on their bed, reaching for his deluxe edition of playboy magazine before thumbing through the pages. "Probably not. I like to think of her mind as one of those 20's style alarm clocks. You know, the ones we had when we were kids? It only has one setting: loud and annoying."

BJ couldn't help but laugh out loud while he prepared to administer his friend's medication, carefully measuring out the rose colored liquid in millimeters based on the marked lines of the vials. "I dunno, pal, that sounds a bit like the pot calling the kettle black." He smirked, walking over to sit beside his friend.

Hawkeye balked in a fake hurt expression, clutching at his heart. "You think I'm annoying?" He gasped, pretending to faint.

BJ raised an eyebrow and shoved at his friend playfully, earning a minor curse from Hawkeye. "Nah, I'm just sayin' we're both a little… how should we put this… odd?" He muttered, pushing lightly at his brother's shirt collar, moving it away so he had access to the port implanted in his chest. It had been installed just last month by BJ himself, a longer than expected five hour procedure of inserting a plastic tube into the arterial vein so that he wouldn't have to be poked so much when administering meds. But, ultimately so, nothing ever came easy for Hawkeye Pierce. There were numerous complications that BJ would have never foreseen. His heart rate was too slow, his vitals were unstable, and he got a nasty infection just a day after the surgery was completed. So, now, every time BJ got a look at a healthy surgical incision scar with no sign of problems, he was immensely grateful and breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Odd? Thank heavens, Beej, for a second there I thought I was _normal!_ God forbid such a horrid fate!" He recited in his best shakespearean voice, not even noticing as his friend inserted the needle into his chest, hooking it up to the IV pole before crawling into bed beside him like the ever faithful man he was. Hawkeye often likened him to a golden retriever; both blonde, playful, and loyal.

"Any pain lately?" BJ asked seriously, giving his friend's chest one last look before pulling his shirt back up.

Hawkey shrugged, leaning back against the pillows. "No, not really… Just a back ache from the erythropoietin. Nothing exciting."  
BJ nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

The two lay in comfortable silence for about 15 minutes, each flipping through their own respective magazines, before, without any warning, the dreadful intercom sounded.

"Attention all personnel; incoming wounded on the compound. Better roll your sleeves up, folks. This one's a doozy."

The pair groaned in sync, Hawkeye covering his face with a page depicting a topless Marilyn Monroe while BJ threw a hand over his eyes wearily.

"Why can't we pause the war, Beej? Call it on account of bad weather?" Hawkeye muttered bitterly, forcing his aching body up as he grabbed his stethoscope and lab coat.

"I'm all for it. Let's agree to come back and play tomorrow." BJ grunted, and the two ran out to the compound where ambulances were rushing in wounded soldiers. Nurses were bustling around like nervous honey bees, and Klinger could be seen helping father Mulcahy loading soldiers onto stretchers.

"Get this kid prepped for OR with two pints of whole blood," Hawkeye called to nurse Bigelow as he examined the young man who lay bleeding before him. The woman nodded curtly before carrying him away, leaving the surgeon to prepare to scrub up.

"I cannot believe my precious french wine betrayed me so," Charles was moaning all throughout preparation, rubbing his temples miserably as he slipped on his white smock and a nurse tied on his mask.

"Rough night, champ?" Hawkeye joked casually as a nurse gloved him.

Charles glared menacingly at the brunette doctor. "Be glad you're not in peak physical condition Pierce, otherwise I would not hesitate to introduce your face to my fist."

Hawkeye sneered sarcastically back at him while BJ whistled in disbelief. "Geez, Charles, that's a little harsh, even for you. How much did you drink last night?" The blonde man asked, following the two into OR where their patients lay waiting.

Charles avoided his glance, cheeks turning a slight pink shade while he looked away. "To be honest, I don't remember."

Hawkeye howled in laughter, which put a smile on BJ's face, hidden underneath his mask.


End file.
